Sleep, my child,

and let the worries of the world

pass you by,

for the world starts anew

each morning

when you wake,

and the light greets you

as softly as the kiss

of your mother’s early-morning lips.

But you are Eden’s daughter

and softness passes soon.

Too much of life

is at odds

with your perfection,

and too much of you

will be brought tumbling down

by your wisdom,

tumbling as you do now

when your small legs fold under you,

yielding payment

for the price of their play.

Sleep, my child,

for I am your first love,

and I come enchanted,

a wandering pilgrim,

to see you bloom

and to worship perfection in Eden.